


i'm glad that the 'pull' was incoherent

by softforjackson



Category: GOT7, K-pop, Yugyeom - Fandom, bambam - Fandom, yugbam - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Band, Anxiety, M/M, Petrol station, also theres a lot of complex vocab bc i found the synonyms option on microsoft word ahdjkas, bambam is a goof n walks into the door
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-13 06:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softforjackson/pseuds/softforjackson
Summary: JULY 24TH, 1:00am: Bambam, a young aspiring fashion designer with anxiety who is seconds from a panic attack, leaves his bedroom through the window.1:20am: Yugyeom, a young aspiring dancer who will do anything for college money, watches as a boy walks straight into the door of the isolated petrol station he works at.1:24am: History is made, as both lives are changed forever.





	1. in which bambam walks into a door

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to @legit-min-yoongi-trash-tho on tumblr for proof reading and giving me writing tips!! ur a real cutie i hope u know that...

**JULY 24** ** th ** **EARLY MORNING**

* * *

 

Bambam went out for the first time today.

It was one in the morning, and was one of those nights - thoughts streamed through his mind, an ongoing alarm in his brain, and sleep had long abandoned him. Anxiety clutched to him, apprehensions like tiny bugs he couldn’t brush off. There would be moments where he almost felt as if they had subsided; but they always came back, an ambush of trepidations that struck fear down to his very core, twisting every sense of rationality into a confused web of trembling panic. He lay paralysed, drowning in the blinding darkness, enveloped in screeching silence, until finally he felt as if staying any longer would drive him mad; he had to leave.

So he did.

There was a petrol station a little over 20 minutes from his mother’s home; sliding out of his window was no challenge, something he had done countless times as a child. His bedroom was on the ground floor, and though directly beneath was a bush, he was lucky to have legs long enough to step over with ease; in no time, he was walking up the dark street.

The night sky was like something out of a magazine. It was clear, a glorious blue-black; and as he stared longer and longer, the abyss began to swirl together in spirals of deep purple, pink and navy. It wasn’t a busy street; there were no cars, only a few parked here and there. Most of the houses were bungalows, and the only vegetation was low lying; it was a pretty empty place, meaning the sky spilled into every corner, filling up the road with its chilly breeze.

He flung his arms out as he ambled along, holding them out by his sides. Feeling the piercing cold night air spill through his spread fingers, he took a deep breath. He filled his lungs to the brim, inhaling until he felt as if he would burst, and then he let it out again, feeling himself deflate until he was paper. Engulfed in the air, he could have sworn he were part of it; he could kill for that feeling. The feeling of being a part of something. The feeling that he wasn’t alone in this world.

Fashion designing was the closest he had ever come to achieving it; myriads of sketches detailing shirts, jackets and dresses had been scattered throughout his room since he could hold a pencil. As soon as pen was put to paper, an immeasurable flood of ideas would fill Bambam’s head, forcing out every other thought in its way, and as he brought it to life on page the world around him would melt, replaced with curves and swirls and patterns so intricate they were each as unique as snowflakes, and for just that small amount of time he felt as if he were a part of something truly special –

Of course, he was made a fool. Told by all who happened to catch a glance that he was unrealistic; his designs were impractical, too flashy, ugly, too loud, – it seemed, in fact, that anything he felt a rare sense of pride for was always too much of something, or lacking something else. These criticisms knocked him back, as they would – but he never stopped. Even if the entire world were to hate him for it, he promised himself he would never let go of the only chance he had to feel a part of something.

The petrol station was open 24/7; it was only small, with two petrol pumps which seemed as if they had been there since the beginning of the millennium. It was isolated from his neighbourhood, almost a fifth of a mile away from any buildings, a twenty minute walk away from Bambam’s house. The strong, rancorous smell of petrol seeped through his pores as he walked across the small parking lot surrounding the station. It was empty, and had the feeling that it had been so for years. The only sound he could hear was a slight buzz of the lights as they flickered slightly above him and the faint singing of a song on the radio inside the garage.

The garage, a small one story rectangular building, had a neon pink light lining the edge of the roof, casting a hot pink shadow on the entire area. It reflected off the large windows, giving everything inside a bright glow. He liked it. It brought him to a whole other world. The walls were a white cement – or at least, he assumed to have been white at some point, since the passing of time had painted the walls a patchy grey. (Although, the windows were so large that the filthy walls didn't matter; in fact, there was barely any wall there at all). As he approached the door, he stuck his hands out to push it open. He came into contact with the door, and, to his great surprise, it didn’t open – and, instead, seemed to deflect him, leaving him confused as he staggered backwards. Kicking himself as he noticed the black and white ‘pull’ sign which had been plainly in his sight, he pulled the door open and placed a timid foot inside.

As soon as he was in, he noticed the boy behind the counter. He was tall, and he was laughing at him, presumably for walking straight into the door. Bambam stifled a giggle of his own (he was surprised that, tonight of all nights, he had any laughter in him at all) before diving into one of the aisles out of the boy’s sight.

The inside of the garage was even smaller than the outside, if that were possible. Four aisles were lined up in the centre; at one end of the room were fridges showcasing a multitude of cold drinks and ice cream, and the other end were racks containing piles upon piles of magazines. Directly opposite the door was the counter, where the boy was pretending to make himself busy with a blank receipt.

Thousands of calories stared up at him; he examined each one carefully. Obnoxiously bright colours and loud patterns covered each package – were his own fashion designs like this? He hushed this thought, pushing it out of his mind, letting the buzzing disposition of the shop swallow it into inexistence.

He didn’t want food.

He spun around, and squinted his eyes at the sudden bright light of the fridge – and without much thought, he pulled out an iced vanilla latte.

The boy behind the counter seemed embarrassed when he placed the latte in front of him. His hair was black, which in the light had a tinge of blue. He grabbed the latte and scanned it through the cash till, “Anything else?”

Bambam shook his head firmly, briskly scanning the racks of mini-sized products either side of him, reaching deep into his pocket for any notes he could find. “How much do I owe you?”

“4300 won,” the boy said, his voice cracking on the ‘won’. He looked as if he were about to laugh again, and Bambam bit his lip to stop himself from smiling. He dug out all of the notes he could find from his pocket, and briefly looked them over before placing them down on the counter. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion sweep over him, before grabbing his coffee and turning to leave.

“Wait!” the boy shouted. Inches from the door, Bambam spun round. “You’re 1000 won over.” Bambam shrugged, and smiled at the boy.

“Keep it. You could buy a bigger pull sign for the door.” He sauntered out, hearing the boy’s laughter chiming in his ears.

It echoed throughout the night.


	2. in which the boy behind the counter is named

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bambam returns to the petrol station.  
> their eyes are tied to eachother;  
> bambam finally learns yugyeoms name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy so im finally back w part 2 ahdjksad ive only ever written this at night w my most indie, chill playlist and rainymood.com in the bg so! to be the most extra, and to help u immerse urself in the very same atmosphere as i have been, i made a spotify playlist specifically for this fic! https://open.spotify.com/user/sophieisreal/playlist/670zWCtVSlooxyXj6xZ9TO (excuse the gross username, i made it when i was 12 adkjashdk,,,, also the playlist lasts 40 mins when it will probably take like 5 minutes at most to read this so!)  
> anyways! at last i bring u this next edgy part of my edgy fic n i hope u enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it! a huge thanks to @legit-min-yoongi-trash-tho on tumblr for proof reading as always! theyre a true legend

**JULY 24 th; MORNING**

* * *

 

The series of sharp and shrill hummings in his brain began to merge together into the distinguishable sounds of a vacuum cleaner and his younger sister playing her music obnoxiously loud, as gradually they pulled him into consciousness. 

Bambam opened his eyes, which felt heavier than they had for a long time, and took a deep breath. 

Another day.

He lay like that, eyes staring at his open window, for a few seconds before heaving himself up and swinging his feet onto the floor, into a seated position. Memories of last night came to him, as he rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes – he pieced together walking into the door, the vanilla latte (which had left an unpleasant taste in his mouth) and the boy behind the counter. 

Bambam hauled himself out of bed and examined his dark mess of a floor for anything with the potentiality of injuring him, before cautiously wading through the papers, clothes and miscellaneous objects that littered it. He checked his phone for the time, before throwing it onto his bed with a yawn, and began to pull on a chunky sweater and black skinny jeans until –

A laugh flooded into his brain. It was like an echo of a laugh, one he knew he’d heard before that had lingered in his mind. It bubbled through his consciousness, taking over every thought and feeling he had, immersing him in every way it could. He closed his eyes. He saw waterfalls in the laugh; pure glittering curtains of azure drizzling off smooth boulders, dribbling into a foaming electric pool beneath. He heard them too, the soft trickle of the aqua hitting the serenity pool, and the sound of wind rustling the leaves of the glowing lime trees that surrounded. He could almost feel it; reaching out his hands, he could feel the water wade through the gaps in his fingers, tickling every pore, pulling him further and further in. Taking a deep breath, the sharp cold air penetrated into his lungs, filling them to the brim and spilling over, sending welcome chills down his spine. As the laugh softened, so did the scene; the blue of the water and green of the trees faded into black, and their soul-swelling music subsided. The air returned to the stale, stuffy air of his room, and all he could feel was the chilling glass screen of his phone. He opened his eyes again. 

Static filled Bambam’s mind. He could feel his heart yank in and out of his chest as his breaths increased in speed and intensity, and he began to sway side to side; he racked his brain for the laugh again, desperately grasping every corner of his thoughts for it to return.

The laugh had made him feel the way only ever fashion had – but more.

It had made him feel like he wasn’t alone. It had almost made him feel happy – it brought him so close he could almost reach out and grab the contentment with his own hands and feel it seep through him, filling him with joy; but, like everything else, it only lasted a second, before it was gone.

He needed to hear it again. But who did it belong to? He shut his eyes, squeezing them as tight as he could, as if it may help him think. 

The boy at the petrol station! He had laughed when Bambam had smacked himself into the door, and again as he left. A giggle worked its way up his throat as he recalled the events of last night, pulling them tight around him like a blanket to keep him warm. 

He made his way out of his room and into the landing outside, then turned and walked quickly past his sister’s room (where she lay, scrolling through her phone and mouthing the lyrics to the song being played) into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

The mirror’s version of himself stared back at him, dreary eyes staring back into his own. He traced his finger across the puffy dark circles beneath his eyes, before reaching for his toothbrush. 

He was going back to the petrol station that night.

**JULY** **25** ** TH ** **; EARLY MORNING**

* * *

The moment his hand reached out for the handle of the door, a wave of hesitation swept over him, as though it were a wave dragging him back down into the deep ocean.

This was stupid. Why was he doing this? Because he liked the counter boy’s laugh? 

Bambam pulled his hand away from the door, and turned away, laughing at himself as he began to walk away; until he heard it.

It was more of a giggle; so faint he wasn’t quite sure if he had heard it, but distinct enough to send a shiver down his spine, sparks jittering through his wrists.  Oddly enough, like an echo, it seemed to ricochet off the black sky above back to him, and then bounce off him to the night sky, and then from the night sky into him again – where it stayed. Sinking deeper into him, planting deep roots into his mind, reaching down this path, then branching off this route, a vessel of serenity so vivid he felt like it had been there his whole life, just waiting to be triggered. 

He couldn’t leave.

He looked out across the stark, dry plain that stretched out for miles, dirt and dust blowing silently in the sleepy feeble wind. He looked at the pink shadow of the neon light on the ground, reaching all the way around the station. He touched his arm lightly as bumps began to raise where the cold air swirled over him, and glanced back at the door. 

There was no way he was leaving – not now. 

The cold metal of the door handle struck chilling sparks through his arm, as he pulled it open and walked inside. The familiar blue walls and white tiled floors seemed even brighter today than they had been last night, and the bright white lights could have blinded him. 

But he wasn't here for the interior. He was here for the counter boy. 

The counter boy, who was being carefully observed through Bambam's peripheral vision, had certainly noticed him, too. He'd sat up ever since he'd first spotted Bambam walking up to the petrol station, hands in his pockets, a grey baggy sweater hanging limply off his figure. He had also watched him as he spun around, shaking his head as if deciding whether to enter or not, even after walking all this way. The boy had laughed to himself over his indecisiveness – which was when he finally came back and walked into the station.  

The two were now playing a secret, unspoken game, in which one would briefly look over as the other glanced away. 

Bambam, before looking discreetly towards the counter for the seventh time, had opened the same fridge as he had the night before, and pulled out the same vanilla latte which had left an aftertaste in his mouth all day. 

The counter boy, before leering at the strange boy who had walked into the door the night before just one more time, wrote something down on an old receipt and tucked it away under the till.

Bambam, walking towards the counter, focused his entire energy on looking at his vanilla latte, and only his vanilla latte.

The counter boy, aware of the boy coming towards him, focused his entire energy on checking the time and date on the till. 

And then, they were face to face.

Bambam slid the latte across the grey counter towards the boy, his sleeves pulled up over his hands. The boy took the latte, and with nervous hands, scanned the latte – of course, he didn't need to. He'd entered the vanilla latte into the till as soon as he had walked over to the fridge.

"4300 won," he said, sliding it back across the counter. 

As the boy began counting his money, Bambam began to smirk, his voice finally finding the words he'd been practising for the past ten minutes.

"I saw the 'pull' sign."

The boy smiled, his eyes forming half-moons. "My voice didn't crack."

"Small victories," Bambam nodded, reaching for his change. Their hands touched, and the air grew thinner. 

"I'm Yugyeom," he said, leaning on the counter. 

Bambam looked up at him – and this time, he really saw him for the first time. The world began to swoon, as his eyes cruised across Yugyeom's face, absorbing every detail – the way his cocoa moon-eyes sang a million songs as he fell deeper into them, the way his cheeks formed apples as he smiled, the way he somehow exerted the energy of both an excitable teen and a sultry man, "Bambam."

Yugyeom bit his lip, breaking their eye contact as he ripped away the receipt from the till. "You didn't take this last time."

"I didn't." 

"I used it well."

"How so?"

He poked the receipt protruding from under the till, "It's a secret." 

Bambam sniggered, his head dropping into his chest, "You couldn't have made that sound more cliché if you tried."

"I could try," he winked. Bambam saw swirls.

"I-I have to go," he breathed, grabbing his latte. "I'll see you again?"

"I hope so," Yugyeom shrugged, "I'm always here."

He made his way towards the door, feeling Yugyeom's eyes burning holes through his back. 

It was once he'd pushed open the door that he allowed himself to look back – the galaxy was undulating, and the earth spiralling; the walls closed in, and the room became a vaccum; air blew circles in the atmosphere, and at the heart of it all was Yugyeom.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh i hope u liked the first part!! i based this fic off my happy place,,, going outside at night w someone u love n trust. there are next parts on the way, they'll be a little longer from here on out,,, i guess u could call this a tester lmaodhsad anyways bye sexys see u next part! also u can follow me on tumblr at @softforjackson


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